


All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky

by The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer



Series: Monsters in the Black [1]
Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pitch Black (2000)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Creature Inheritance, Explicit Language, Implied Future Mpreg, Implied Mental Instability, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Depictions of Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer/pseuds/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abandoned on a world of eternal light, Harry and Draco must depend on an escaped murderer to survive the coming darkness. It won’t be easy, but then, the path to finding a true home never is.</p><p>[Slow updates. Undergoing revision and editing.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> For those new to this story, welcome! For those returning, welcome back! Old readers might notice some changes made. I've decided to do some necessary editing as I re-post this story and in the duration have also made some additions and changes. It's the same story you might have read over on FanFiction.Net, just with some shiny new parts.
> 
> Updates on this will be slow as I go through it, but save for the last three chapters (plus epilogue) it's mostly complete. I hope to finish in a much better time frame than before. 
> 
> I'm deliberately abusing Pitch Black/Riddick canon for my own amusement. HP canon is pretty much pulp from the get-go.
> 
> (Don't worry, any future notes won't be this long.)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> (Added 227 words)  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The suns were unusually hot. The powerful rays struck the sand sending heat-waves into the air, causing everything around to shimmer as though in an exotic dance. It was a world of never-ending light, with three suns that circled a small dilapidated planet._

_Far in the distance, hundreds of pillars shot upwards toward the sky like celebrants in prayer. More than simple earthly formations, these pillars housed a dark secret, a portal into a world where one could only meet death. Between the pillars and clearer land was what amassed to a graveyard, filled from end to end with the skeletal remains of the great beasts that had once roamed the barren world. All around, hills and mountains littered the surface._

_It was a dead world, vacant of all life save for the surging mass of darkness below the surface and two lonely souls above._

_Alone - but not for long._

-

All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter One

-

It was easy to miss the stars. The light of three suns drowned out all other light, leaving the sky a bright yellow for half the day and a bright blue for the other. Of course, a taste of the stars was not worth a painful death.

Verdant eyes snapped open and their owner stood, staring out into the far distance. They flittered to the sky before narrowing. He turned away. Not far behind him stood another, taller and fairer, waiting patiently with bare feet planted firmly in the dirt.

“What is it, _kal’is_?” Green eyes peered into ice blue before looking back at the sky.

For a long moment, there was silence.

“They come,” he answered finally. His bright eyes clouded as though seeing something others could not. “From the sky they fall into the valley eleven strong. Men, women, children. Pass the pillars divided and through the graveyard they enter from the canyon seeking water… and finding us.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “The world is shrouded by darkness and one by one they fall to the hunger of the _Zhal'mekres_ until few are left.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing, _kali’ridu_. We let them come.”

“Is that wise, Harris?” Harris looked at him, his eyes no longer clouded.

“We could hide and wait out the darkness, _oridu_ , but what then? This dead world is not where we belong.” He turned away from the mountain and began to walk back toward their camp. “Come, Draconis. We must prepare.”

“Yes, _kal’is_.”

-

It was as he said, Draconis thought, eyes riveted to the smoking hunk of metal somewhat buried in the sand. Only minutes before it had fallen from the sky, breaking apart piece by piece until it had come to a slow stop, leaving a gruesome telling scar in the face of the earth. Not too long after, people had emerged. He counted only ten. Draconis frowned. Was Harris off? He adjusted his eyesight and sighed. No. The last was still inside.

This worried him. He didn’t want to be found, but he didn’t want to stay on this world. The world was much too dead for his brother to stand, and he himself did not like the lurking evil underneath the surface. He supposed that if it was meant to be, he would live with it.

Harry’s premonitions were never wrong.

He wrapped the winds around him to mask his steps and body from view and went in closer to listen.

“So what are we going to do with him, Johns?” The blonde woman stood a bit away from the rest of the group with a tall brown-haired man. Both of them looked toward the downed vessel.

“We’ll leave him there for now,” the man answered her. “We’ll worry about him when we have to. First we need to find water and a way off this rock.” The two joined the others of their small group.

Draconis stayed behind to watch them as they began to explore the damage. As all of them disappeared into another part of the vessel, the last emerged from the largest piece. The large, bald man seemed to struggling with restraints around his wrists before they came off. He tossed them away and looked around before running off into the opposite direction.

Draco frowned. Was this man a prisoner? Someone dangerous? He looked at the direction the man had disappeared in. Whoever it was, he was headed toward the camp – toward his brother. He cast his mind out until he felt the familiar presence of his brother.

‘A man heads your way, _kal’is_. He may be dangerous.’ In his mind, his brother laughed.

‘He _is_ dangerous, _kali’ridu_. But not to us.’

Draco frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That will be known in time.’ Draco growled at the mysterious answer. For all he owed his life to his brother’s Sight several times over, his propensity for ambiguity and riddles never ceased to annoy him. ‘For now, my brother, you should pay attention to our visitors.’ The connection cut off abruptly and Draco shook away a pending headache at the sudden silence before looking down.

The other survivors of the crash appeared to have noticed the disappearance of the last man. Their emotions were chaotic, mostly fearful and anxious. One man among them was fairly radiating rage. The group gathered together, arming themselves with a multitude of weapons. Draconis checked the wind cloaking him one more time before alighting atop the downed vessel. He looked down and listened.

“Imam.” The blonde from earlier addressed another man, dressed in what could only be holy garb. “If we’re going to find water, we better leave now before nightfall.”

“There isn’t going to be nightfall.” The woman and holy man looked towards another man, British from the accent, clutching what seemed to be a small scythe in fingers blanched white from his tight grip, eyes wide with fright behind his glasses. “You better have a look at this.”

A blue sun was rising over the horizon.

“This planet has _three suns_ ,” a young girl that was dressed as a boy said in a mixture of surprise and complaint. “What kinda planet has three fricken suns?”

“This is a moon, not a planet,” another woman, this one with long curly dark hair in a messy tail behind her head, corrected her absently with a tone that belied her agreement to the girl’s complaint. “If I got the math right, specifically M6-117, Codename: Hades.” (“Apt description,” muttered the nervous spectacled man, though he went largely ignored.) “If we’d landed on the planet it orbits, we wouldn’t have to worry about there being three suns. We’d be dead already, seeing as its atmosphere would have our brains leaking out of our ears ‘fore we even reached topside.” The girl-boy twisted her face in a wordless moue and jumped down from the piece of wreckage she’d climbed as though it would give her a better view of the blue sun rising in the sky.

“Moon or planet, this is a good sign,” said the holy man, throwing an arm around the boy at his side with a wide smile. “Blue sun, blue water. We have been given a direction from Allah.”

“More like it’s a bad sign.” The man called Johns checked the clips of his shotgun and looked up. “That’s Riddick’s direction.”

“I thought you said you found his cuffs in the other direction,” said the woman, “towards the twin suns, sunset?”

“That’s right.” Johns cocked his weapon and handed it off to another, a darker-skinned man that seemed to have seen his fair share of hard labor. “That means he went towards sunrise.” He turned to face the other man. “Zeke. It’s fully loaded and the safety’s on. Shoot first, ask later.”

“And if he finds us first?” asked the British man, looking somewhat frightened. Johns gave him a sarcastic grin.

“Then there won’t be any shots, will there?”

Draco decided he’d heard enough; he unfurled his wings and lifted off into the air.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Revision: 265 words added. Minor errors fixed.)

_It was a long, hard battle. Bloodied and scarred, Harry and Draco gazed out upon the destruction left in the wake of the final battle. Bodies littered the once pristine grounds of Hogwarts and blood stained the once bright green lawns, now mostly dull and blackened from missed spells and fire._

_There was nothing left. Voldemort had destroyed all he could in a desperate attempt to win, but in the end it was the outcast brothers who had emerged triumphant in the war. The castle was nothing more than rubble, fortunately destroyed during the holidays when few were there. That meant less death, but death nonetheless. Twenty four students and seven teachers had fallen with the school._

_With a sigh of fatigue, Harry sunk to the ground. A pair of large, beautiful wings trembled slightly behind him betraying his weariness. Gold glinted among the black and green, and purple tips brushed against the blood-stained ground. A long tail curled around his waist and he held it gently in his hands as though it brought comfort._

_Draco knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. His own black wings, shot throughout with white and silver and light blue flight feathers, flared out strongly despite his own exhaustion and his tail swayed gently behind him. His ice-blue eyes looked at the familiar dead, mixed emotions coursing through him._

_Once friends and colleagues lay strewn around them; family, friends, all of them betrayers of a kind. His family turned their backs to him when he left the dark. His friends turned from him when he became less than human. However bad he had had it, of course, his brother had it worse._

_When the truth came out about his and Harry’s Zephyrkat heritage, a race of winged cat-like creatures that were considered among the darkest of creatures marked worse than werewolves had ever been despite their documented pacifistic behaviors, the world had cast them out. Draco dealt with it simply enough, having already been outcast from his family for being Light-oriented, but Harry…. The world that once idolized him, looking to him for salvation and freedom from a madman, turned their backs to him. They accused him of being Dark, evil, a monster. Even with the death of Voldemort, Draco doubted that opinion would change. Even more so now, once the sheep of the world converged upon the battleground and realized the extent of the devastation and death toll._

_“Take us to where we can find happiness,” Draco whispered into the still air around them. Harry looked up at him, something unidentifiable in his bright emerald eyes. His hands clasped his brother’s and he closed his eyes. His magic cast out to the earth around them, the wild magic that was infused with the very planet. He repeated Draco’s wish and added his own to it. Left in this world, they would never find happiness, never find the one place where they would be content and could call home. There was nothing left for them here._

_Magic swelled around them to answer their call and then they were gone as though they had never been. A fierce storm broke out above as Nature wept at the loss of her children, washing away the blood in rivers stained red._

-

All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter Two

-

Harry hummed softly as he manipulated the currents around him with practiced ease. Small dark clouds formed above his well cared-for garden and released a soft rain on his lush plants, the only green life on the planet. He had coaxed the dead vegetation back to life and since then cared for it with a single-minded intensity to ensure that there remained some life on the barren world once they left it. It was only a matter of hours, now.

When they’d first found this camp they had the unpleasant experience of learning just why it had been abandoned. They’d escaped the little _Zhal’mekres_ with minimal injury and had taken it upon themselves to make sure every building had ample light. Among the things left behind were what was needed to grow a garden for food, as well as dried rations, enough to sustain a small group of people for several years.

In the seven months he and his brother had lived on this world, the camp had become a decent, if lonesome, temporary home. The buildings were clean, and the old resident’s belongings boxed and put away. Personal items, one for each of the settlers that once resided here, were placed carefully in a small, empty area to serve as grave markers, the only remembrance they could offer to the people they had never met and whom had never had a chance. It now looked cared for and lived in, as though it had not been abandoned for over two decades.

The cat-like ears atop his head twitched as the sound of voices carried through the bone canyon that marked the entrance to the camp and broke his thoughts of the dead. Harry smiled. He had visitors, and they were probably parched from the dry desert heat.

-

The group walked slowly, eyes roving over the encampment. Despite the clean upkeep, it looked deserted. The blonde headed the group and surveyed the empty grounds before turning to the man beside her.

“Do you think there are people here?” Johns looked at her for a moment before scanning the camp.

“Don’t know, Fry. It looks like there might be, but where are they? A camp this big, gotta have at least a dozen of ‘em, if not two.” Fry shielded her eyes against the sun and walked further into the camp.

“Is anyone here?” she shouted, echoing the sounds of the acolyte children’s Arabic calls. Silence greeted her. The group of six walked further into the camp.

“There must be someone here,” the Imam said, his voice filled with sudden excitement. “Look!” As they rounded the first building they saw a lush garden, glistening in the sunlight from recent watering. The three Christlam children shouted with joy, running towards the garden to inspect it.

“Then where’s all the damn people?” Johns demanded in aggravation. A hand strayed to the weapon at his waist.

“Where is who?” As one, the group whirled around and stared in astonishment at the man standing behind them.

He was somewhat short in height, maybe five foot six, with shoulder-length black hair and bright emerald eyes. He was dressed simply in a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. His feet were bare and dusty from the dirt and his skin a sun-kissed golden, obviously from spending a long time in the suns. He carried a tray holding several cups. What amazed them most, however, was the multi-coloured tail that swayed gently behind him and the cat-like ears nearly blending in with his hair.

He stared at them with an unidentifiable expression, eyeing the weapon Johns had drawn on instinct with disinterest. His eyes landed on each of them in turn, a soft, amused smile on his lips. After a long moment of silent, his eyebrow lifted along with the tray he carried.

“Here. You must be thirsty after having come such a long way.”

“Who are you? _What_ are you?” Fry said at last, her tone somewhat bewildered. She accepted the cup pressed into her hands absentmindedly as she stared at him. The man still smiled softly, passing around the other glasses, the contents of which were guzzled down almost immediately.

“My name is Harris,” the man said gently. “And I am a Zephyrkat.”

“Never heard of ‘em,” Johns said. He eyed his glass suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it,” Harris said, amused. Johns’ distrustful look displayed clearly what he thought of that. “You would not have heard of my kind. There are only two of us left.”

“We are very grateful,” the Imam said, bowing his head. “Allahu Akbar. God is great to have led us to you.”

“I wouldn’t thank Him just yet,” Harris murmured demurely. The holy man chose to ignore his comment in favor of quenching his thirst, checking his acolytes to make sure they were drinking as well.

“Where are the rest of the people?” Fry asked, glancing around the camp. “This place isn’t huge, but it’s not small either. Are you the only one here?”

“At the moment? Yes.” Harris gave her a sad smile and walked towards one of the buildings. “The ones who made this camp have been dead for a very long time. Long before we settled here.”

“We?” Johns said, still suspicious.

“My brother and I.” He glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes glinting. “He isn’t here right now.” Johns narrowed his eyes.

“Where is he?”

-

Zeke paused in his work, sucking greedily on his O2 canister. He left the hole he’d been working in to grab one of the corpses from the crash when he noticed movement near the ship. For a moment, he froze. He grabbed the weapon Johns gave him and made his way toward the ship. All he saw was the back of a tall, bald man moving towards the three huddled at the doorway of the cargo hold before he shot off a few rounds into his back in panic.

The body went stiff before falling over, his blood splattered over the tall, dark-haired woman in front of the other two that had stayed behind.

“It was just another survivor!” the boy cried. “He was just….” The boy trailed off, unable to finish as he stared at the swiftly cooling corpse in horror. Zeke gasped heavily, his panic fading away.

“Bloody ‘ell. I thought it might’ve been that dirty bastard Riddick.”

From his perch atop the cargo hold, Draco shook his head at the needless slaughter and raised his eyes to look at the convict comfortably sitting in the umbrella chair placed on top of the cockpit.

-

Johns tilted his head and looked into the sky. He held out a hand in front of Fry, who was babbling in excitement over the discovery of the skiff gathering dust at the opposite side of camp. Harris had shown it to them, confessing to being clueless when it came to space travel, or any type of aircraft in general.

“Shut up,” he said harshly, abruptly cutting her off. He listened intently.

“What is it?” Fry asked after a moment.

“Sorry. I thought I heard gunshots. Now what were you saying?”

“I was saying that if we brought over a few power cells and fixed up the wings, we might get this thing off the ground. Enough to get us to the shipping lane, anyway. We should go back and gather the others, bring them here with as many cells as we can carry.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They left the ship and walked back towards the main encampment, where Harris had put the pilgrim boys busy at work helping him harvest the garden, brown wicker baskets half-full besides them.

“Let’s head back to the ship,” Fry said to the Imam after catching his attention. “We can bring the others here.” The holy man nodded and called to the boys in Arabic. They looked up from the garden in varying degrees of disappointment and joined him, brushing soil from their hands. Johns looked toward Harris.

“You gonna come with us?” he asked him, half wanting to force him along to keep an eye on the unknown, half not wanting anything to do with the fey looking creature that made his hackles rise unpleasantly. Harris looked at him for a moment, eerie soulful eyes making Johns just that much more unwilling to be anywhere near him, before shaking his head.

“No. I will stay here, perhaps prepare something for your other people. I’m sure they’re hungry by now.” Johns nodded, glancing in the direction of the skiff. Harris gave him a sardonic look.

“Mr. Johns, if either I or my brother knew how to work that thing, and had the means to power it to do so, do you really think we would still be here in this barren wasteland?” Johns sighed in resignation and adjusted his hat.

“All right, people, let’s get going.” The group gathered together, filling empty liqueur bottles one last time for the trip, and made their way back toward the canyon.

“Mr. Johns,” Harris called to him softly. Johns turned back to look at him, but Harris wasn’t looking at him at all, still working on his garden. “Travel fast. The one you hunt lies in that direction.” Green eyes, filled with knowledge they shouldn’t have, looked over his shoulder deep within his own, searing into his soul as though his sins were laid bare for all to see.

Johns shivered as… _something_ worked its way down his spine.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Revision: 275 words added.)

_They were hungry. So hungry. For years they lived under the rock and dirt of their world, unable to stand the sunlight that stained the surface. The light that killed them, made their skin boil and burst into dust._

_The hatchlings were growing anxious. They could sense the meat atop the surface, smell the blood that pulsed within the new creatures that plagued their world. Their hunger raged at them, demanding to be sated, demanding their first taste of fresh warm flesh and liquid life._

_The time of darkness and mating approached. The darkness came once every lifetime, where they were free to take to the skies of their home, of_ their _world, to sate their lusts for food and sex. For decades they’ve waited and now, finally, the time drew near._

_Soon – soon they would feed._

-

All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter Three

-

Zeke dragged the newest corpse to the grave and left it with the others, covering it with a tarp that kept the sun from burning it, minimizing the stench of death and decay. He took a hit of his breather and lifted a second tarp from the grave he’d spent most of the second morning digging and stopped in bewilderment.

“What the hell….” He stared, perplexed, at the hole in the grave wall. It hadn’t been there before. He jumped into the hole and squatted in front of it. It was an almost perfect triangle and as he peered into it, it turned into a tunnel deep underground.

He shifted some of the dirt away from the hole to make it big enough for him to fit through and grabbed his wrist light. He put his head and shoulders through and shined the light into the hole.

It would be the last thing he ever did.

-

Back at the ship, the others look up as gun shots sounded out through the air. The woman dropped her torch and ran toward the gravesite, her breathing labored and hair flying behind her.

“Zeke?” she called in panic when the shots stopped. She pulled the tarp from the hole and gazed down in horror. Blood splattered the walls of the grave, dripping thickly from the top and sides of a hole on the back end. She looked up suddenly only to stare into the goggled eyes of the criminal that had escaped during the confusion and head count of survivors.

She screamed in a mix of sorrow and rage.

Riddick stood up slowly, still looking at her, before he turned and ran. It made him look guilty he knew, but he didn’t exactly care. He had wanted the breather Zeke carried, but that… thing had gotten to the prospector before he could.

He dodged around several of the spires and stupidly looked behind him to see if that woman was following him. He knew it was a mistake as soon as the leg that appeared from nowhere tripped him, making him fall flat on his front in the dirt. He looked to the side as Johns appeared and kicked him onto his back.

“So,” Johns said, looking entirely too smug. “Back to your old tricks, are you?” Riddick grabbed at him, but Johns dodged and struck him, managing to steal his goggles.

Riddick squinted against the sudden brightness. Johns was outlined, his body heat against the bright sun making him look like a golden beacon. He swung his arms out but missed again as Johns kicked his side, Riddick’s quick defensive curl the only thing saving him from a cracked rib at least.

The woman appeared next, kicking him from the other side. “Where is he?” she screamed, kicking at him again. “What did you do with him?” Fry appeared and grabbed onto her, holding her back. The woman struggled against her hold and kicked out at him again, managing to hit his raised head.

His head swam and he blanked into darkness.

-

“He didn’t say anything,” Johns growled. “Just a bunch of bullshit. Said he heard sounds from the hole. My guess is he took the body and buried it out in the hills.” The group gave somewhat skeptical looks, looking between the tarp they could just see in the distance and the hills much farther off. Even a simpleton would be able to predict the impossibility of it.

“He wouldn’t have had time.” The dark-haired woman kicked at the dirt in frustration. “It only took me a few minutes to get there after the gunshots. He prolly buried me Zeke in that damned hole.”

“We checked the hole, Shazza. Zeke wasn’t there.” Fry rubbed her arm gently. Shazza shook off her touch and stomped away from them. Fry stared after her in mixed sympathy and affront, before she huffed and stormed into the carrier where Riddick had been chained up.

The criminal sat in darkness atop a metal crate, in the shadows from waist up, his head turned down and to the side. Chains held his arms up and apart in a gross caricature of an animal on the slaughter block. Fry had the strangest thought that that was exactly what Johns had been aiming for.

“So where is he?” she demanded, hands cocked on her hips. When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Want to tell me about the sounds, then? Johns said you heard something.” Still nothing. “Alright, fine, don’t say anything. If you don’t talk, though, it’s likely we’ll just leave you here to die.” She turned to leave.

“You mean the whispers?” She paused, unsure for a moment if she had really heard the dark rumbling words, and turned around.

“What whispers?”

Riddick shifted in the darkness, chains rattling, the sound an eerie echo in the mostly empty cargo hold.

“The ones in the back of my mind telling me to go for the sweet spot. Fourth lumbar down, just left of the spine; the abdominal aorta. Metallic taste, blood. Like copper. Cut it with peppermint schnapps, that goes away.” Fry twitched, unsure if she should believe him or not.

“How about the truth now. You might shock me.”

Riddick scoffed. “You people are all so scared of me, but it ain’t me you gotta worry about now. There’s something even more dangerous than I am in that hole. Whatever it is… it got Zeke. I didn’t kill him.” She took a step closer to him.

“I want to see your eyes.” He shifted again.

“Gotta come a lot closer for that.” Fry stood still for a moment before taking a hesitant step closer. Two, three, four. She stopped. “Closer.” She wiped her sweaty hands on pants and took two more steps closer.

Riddick lunged. Fry gasped in fright and stared into his eyes, even as the restraints kept him from going any further. They were like pools of liquid silver, surrounded by a thin black line. If it weren’t for the killing intent lurking deep within, they would be almost beautiful.

“Those are fucking cool.” Riddick and Fry looked towards the stairs, where one of the boys stood looking at them. “Where can I get eyes like that?”

“Go upstairs, Jack,” Fry said harshly. Jack ignored her. Riddick grinned.

“Gotta kill some people.” The kid nodded eagerly. “Then you gotta get sent to a locker where they tell you you’ll never see daylight again. You dig up a doctor; pay him twenty menthol Kools to do a shine job on your eyeballs.”

“No problem, I can do that. See who’s sneakin’ up behind me in the dark, that’d be fuckin’ awesome.” Determination fairly radiated off the kid, easily locking eyes with a known killer without the slightest hint of fear.

Riddick felt unusually proud. Most kids were sniveling cowards until some learned to grow a backbone, finally cutting away from mommy’s apron strings. The universe was a big place, and not always a good one; it was a tossup what he thought about the ones who had to learn that lesson too early, though this one seemed to take to it like a duck to water. He could grow to like a kid like that. Kinda reminded him of himself, really.

“Go upstairs, Jack!” Fry shouted. Jack scowled at her and went back up the stairs, stomping his feet the entire way. Riddick turned his grin on Fry.

“Cute kid.” Fry frowned.

“Where’s the body? It wasn’t in the hole. We looked.”

Riddick stared at her dispassionately and sunk once more into the darkness and the shadows. He rolled his neck once, cracking it effortlessly like one would crack their knuckles, and turned away from her. Fry was ready to give up and leave before he spoke again, his deep voice sending a shiver of fear up her spine.

“Then look deeper.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Revision: 921 words added.)

_He spent months looking for the bastard – asshole always one step ahead of him, playing him like a damned instrument. If it weren’t for the money he’d get for him, he would have given up long before now. There was a lot he could do with a one point five million bounty (if he delivered him alive, but eight fifty grand for the body wasn’t something to sneeze at either). Plenty for a new ship, booze, loose women, and whole lot of morphine. Not to mention the boost it’d give his rep._

_He was getting tired of chasing Riddick, though. He was tired of the cramped civil transport ships (after the bastard got the slip the first time he caught him and stole his – taught him fucking caution, that’s for damned sure), the busy ports, all of the twists and turns and backtracks. He was just so goddamned_ tired _._

_And now he had him. Took a bit of hitting below the belt, maybe doing a few things he weren’t too proud of if he took the time to really think about it, but hey – it’s not like Riddick hadn’t done worse. Sure, the bastard had never involved kids before – went out of his way to make sure of that, for some reason – but he did what he had to do, and if maybe he had a few bad dreams about it, what of it? Only he and Riddick and God would ever know the truth, and he never planned on going to heaven anyway._

_Of course, just his luck the damned transport ship crashed into some backwards ass moon with nothing but sand and suns (as in plural – three goddamned suns) and now monsters under the fucking sand and seemingly hungry as all hell. Seventy-six days gone to waste. He should have ghosted the fucker and left him to stink up some bounty office, collected his pay, and gone on vacation, but hell - one point five_ million _. He’d never run across that again for one job. It was just too damn good to pass up._

_But now… fuck the money. By now he’d just need four or five big bads to make that up, and he doubted any of them could be near as fucking annoying as this job. With any luck, they could just leave Riddick’s bastard ass behind and let him rot as they got the fuck off this fuckhole of a moon._

_Then again, Johns figured, he never did have any kind of luck._

-

All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter Four

-

“This is fucking stupid, you know that right?” Fry did her best to ignore him and quickened her pace towards the gravesite. “Look, the man’s bullshitting you. We all know he took the body and buried it somewhere.”

“I just want to be sure.”

Johns did his best to reign in his temper – he needed to look professional, damn it, look like the one in charge. It wasn’t enough he had Fry’s confession to hang over her head and put her a step below him on the proverbial food chain. The others still looked to her more often for direction, still thought of her as the Captain. No matter how laughable the thought was; any idiot who knew their stuff could tell she was still wet behind the ears when it came to civilian transport. He’d be surprised if she had more than ten, fifteen runs under her belt all totaled – and with a nine month cryo trip like the one they were on, autonav meant the pilot was first crew down, last crew up except in emergencies. Computers did the rest.

Johns shook his head of the thought. His mind was slipping fast – almost due for another hit soon. He jogged a bit faster to walk next to her, not bothering to hide his annoyance at the stubborn look to her face and the clench in her jaw.

“ _I’m_ sure. Look, Riddick likes to keep people guessing and scared. Gives him his jollies for all I know, and he’ll say anything to make you think twice. Risking your life in some half-cocked plan ain’t gonna change anything that happened.”

“Excuse me if I like to give people the benefit of the doubt,” Fry said, scowling. “Even murderers. Besides, we gotta find the body. Someone’s gotta go down there and look for him.”

“So, a murdering bastard tells you there’s a boogeyman under the bed, and you think, “Hey, why not find out if he’s right?”” Fry ignored him, teeth grinding with the effort not to respond to his blatant sarcasm, footsteps missing a beat to spite her. “Yeah,” Johns continued, knowing he was getting to her, “because that makes a whole lot of sense.”

“I’ll go,” Jack spoke up from the back behind the Imam and Shazza, face as eager as a puppy.

“No.” Fry, Johns, and Shazza sent the boy a dark look. The holy man laid a gentle hand on his shoulders to stop the argument looking to escape. Jack grudgingly shut his mouth and crossed his arms.

Fry looked forward again, steps faster in renewed determination.

“I’m going down there. That’s _it_ , the end.” Behind her, the small group sighed and trudged unwillingly along.

Fry jumped into the hole almost as soon as she got there. She handed the other half of her rope to the Imam and checked the chain on her belt one last time, ignoring the way her fingers shook. She looked at the four faces above her, turned on her flashlight, and crawled into the narrow opening. It was only once she was inside that she allowed her fear to show.

 _‘This is so stupid!’_ she thought fervently. Nonetheless, she began to crawl forward.

-

Stupid, Draco thought, watching the small group from the sky. Really stupid. He reached out his Empathy to chart her progress. He felt her, but there were other presences nearly overpowering her, an overwhelming hunger that made her fear look like nothing. He counted at least three dozen in that chamber alone.

He could feel her reach the chamber beneath the spires and her fear suddenly spiked. Guess she found what was left of the body. Even from here he could hear the clicking growing louder, hungering for her flesh. Her fear escalated into panic.

She was climbing one of the spires. A smart move, but she was too far away to be heard. He looked at the group. They had noticed something was wrong; the line was pulled taunt and they were listening, hoping to hear something.

The child looked up, casting her gaze toward the spires. She shouted something and ran off, the others following after her. They put ears to the spires and moved on from the silent ones until they found the one the woman had climbed up and broke into it, pulling her out.

But the monsters still had her.

He dove a moment before she screamed and was pulled backwards towards the spire. Pulling his wings tight against him for speed, he entered the hole they made in the spire wall, the force of his impact causing cracks to form outwards from the hole and the top of the spire to crumble, and grabbed at her flailing arms, pulling her upwards. Once he had her in a firm grip, he thrust a hand out and shot a beam of light down into the cavern.

Something screeched in pain and let go of her line, the clicking fading into retreat. He pulled her out and away from the pillar.

“Cut the line!” he snapped at the astonished group, the woman shaking and pale from where she stood unsteadily, fingers like claws on his arms. Quickly, the Imam pulled out an ornate dagger from his belt and sliced cleanly through the rope. As one, they watched the rope being dragged back into the hole and out of sight. Draco let go of the woman (or rather, forced her grip to relinquish its hold) and rounded on them, fury in his eyes. “You _fools_. To go beneath the surface is to meet _death_.” They couldn’t answer him, struck by his image.

He was tall, pale-skinned, with short sun-bleached blonde hair, nearly white in intensity, with what looked like strands of liquid gold and shadow grey shot through. His wings flared out behind him in his anger, black with white and silver and light blue, and his similarly coloured tail whipped out behind him. Silver and grey cat-like ears were swiveled to the back like an angered cat arching its fur. A black shirt, dark jeans, and black boots only seemed to add to the striking picture.

“Are you… Harris’s brother?” Fry gasped out, clutching at her sides. Her chest felt as though it’d lost the other lung.

“Yes,” the man sneered. “Although that doesn’t matter much, does it? You must have some kind of death wish to go chasing after the meal of a _Zhal’mekres_. You nearly became one yourself.”

“What the hell is a Zal… mekris? And who the hell are you? Who is Harris? _What_ _the fuck happened to me Zeke_?” Shazza spat out in rapid fire, splitting her attention between this strange, alien newcomer and Fry.

“A _Zhal’mekres_ is what we named the beasts beneath the surface; it means Night Beasts in our tongue,” Draco answered after a moment when it looked like the stupid woman with a death wish was too shaken to speak any more, brushing stray bits of the spire off his shoulder carelessly. “My name is Draconis, not that it’s any of your business. Harris is my brother, as should have been obvious by that woman’s question. And your… _Zeke_ … was eaten. That’s what happens to fools who willingly enter the lair of hungry beasts.”

Shazza shot him a look of pure hatred, eyes bright with fear and loss. She wanted to scream and rage and cry all at once, but mostly she felt empty and wished she’d never gotten on the damned transport ship in the first place. If she ever got off this planet she was going to drink herself into a stupor and never fly into space again.

“That monster, or monsters, or whatever it was that was pulling me down,” Fry said softly looking up at the stricken woman, voice renewed, “that’s what got Zeke. It wasn’t Riddick.”

-

“Here’s how it’s gonna go.” Riddick didn’t look up as Johns stopped in front of him, Riddick’s goggles swinging back and forth in his fingers. “We’re movin’ out. You can either stay here as a rotting corpse, or you can come with us – provided you play nice with the kiddies topside.”

“Found something scarier than me I take it,” Riddick’s voice rumbled deeply from the shadows. “Monsters get the _Captain_ , by chance?” Johns ignored him.

“You listen to me; do what I say, when I say it. You work without chain, without bit, and without shivs. You play nice, we all get off this hellhole in one piece.”

“For what?” Riddick asked, looking up at him. “To go back to some slam on a planet in the middle of nowhere? Fuck you. Ghost me, motherfucker, that’s my suggestion.” Johns lifted his shotgun and held it point blank at his head.

“I’m tired of chasing you through the ‘Verse, Riddick. Wasted too much of my life tracking you, and frankly you ain’t worth all this agro. I figure we leave this shithole behind and never see each other again. So you have two choices: be a good doggie and join the pack, or give the walls a pretty red paint job.” Riddick eyed him for a long moment.

“So. You gonna set me loose, huh? Not afraid I might turn around and decide to stick another piece in your spine?”

“Maybe we killed you. Maybe you just died in the crash. I’m just sick of seein’ your ugly mug and the sooner we’re outta here the sooner I can go back to huntin’ lowlifes like you and putting them back in slam.”

“Like I said: Do me, motherfucker. No less than I’d do to you.”

The shotgun blasted. Riddick dropped his arms as the restraints fell away and he tore them from his wrists.

“I want you to remember this moment,” Johns said, smirking. “The way that could’ve gone and didn’t.” He held out the goggles. “We got a deal or do I need to correct my aim?” Riddick stared at him for a long moment before reaching out a hand. Quick as lightning, he took the gun from Johns’ hands and held it against the man’s chest. Johns raised his hands slowly, eyes locked on the finger Riddick had on the trigger.

“Remember this moment,” Riddick hissed mockingly. He unloaded the clip, bullets showering to the floor, and tossed the rifle into the shadows. He brushed past a frozen Johns into the sunlight, settling his goggles firmly over his eyes.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Revision: 820 Words added. Minor errors fixed.)

_His first ever memory was staring into the face of a madman as he attempted to drain the life out of him by strangling him with his own umbilical cord. His second was waking up in a trashcan outside of a liquor store into black eyes and a voice in his head screaming for revenge and blood in equal measure._

_Riddick wouldn’t blame his shit childhood for his less than moral ways. Death and battle just came naturally to him. It was in his blood. He could no more ignore the screams that turned to whispers as he grew than he could chew off his right leg. It was what got him the Company’s attention in the first place, and later what got the Company afraid of him enough to blacklist him on every Company controlled planet in the ‘Verse. Not only did he know too much of the skeletons they hid in the closet, but he had the ability to let everyone else know too. Ex-soldier turned con. He was a_ liability _._

_He wasn’t as cold-blooded as everyone thought. He may not be all sunshine and roses and smiles, but he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t kill the innocent. Children. Those who hadn’t done a thing wrong in their lives, but just tried to survive it one shitty day after another. He could empathize with that. He’d lived that way every goddamned day of his life._

_Did that make him weak? No. A weak man would hesitate before slitting the throat of a pilot he once fought besides, once killed besides on Company orders to steal his ship outta slam. He didn’t hesitate at all. A brief moment of satisfaction as bright eyes turned dull (the same mocking bright eyes that turned around and ratted him out – fucker deserved it) and then the sweet smell of freedom and the big open black of space._

_Did it make his foolish? Sometimes. His ‘soft heart’ got him into this mess, after all. A bunch of kids in trouble, a couple of dead eight year olds (fucking Johns, asshole should have his own cage on some shitwater planet with a big “Child Killer” plaque right outside his cell) - shoulda figured. Now he was stuck on some god forsaken moon in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. A place where monsters worse than him lurked beneath the dirt and rock, just waiting for their chance to gobble ‘em all up like a Sunday picnic._

_Stuck on a planet with Johns “The Blue-Eyed Devil” no less._

_He wondered if the others would notice if the fucker disappeared. Not like anyone would miss him._

_Except for maybe a few whorehouses on Taurus II, anyway._

-

All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter Five

-

“Load up whatever it is you want to bring, but keep it light.” Fry was saying to the group as Riddick left the wreck of a ship, Johns not much longer behind him. He stayed to the shadows a bit, eyeing the group and Johns went to stand next to their vaunted _Captain_. “It’s only a small skiff, normally a two-seater with cargo space,” she continued, looking at Johns for a moment and valiantly not looking behind her at the eyes she could _feel_ were there. “Too much junk and some of us might get left behind. We might come back here, though, so don’t load us up too heavy.”

“Come back?” Paris looked at her in confusion, stuffing several bottles of liqueur into his knapsack. “Why would we come back if we have a working ship?”

“Because we’re only taking one power cell,” Fry answered him patiently. “Just enough for a sys check. We’ll come back for the rest of them once we know how many we need, and if the thing can get off the ground in the first place. No reason to weigh ourselves down with stuff we can’t use.” Paris fidgeted nervously at the decision and went back to the cargo hold.

The others quickly got to work doing as she said. The holy man and his acolytes took Jack with them to raid the cargo hold for anything that might be useful and quickly worked up a usable bit of paneling for use as a sled with Shazza’s help, then went back to look for more rope. Johns and Fry wandered off to dig up the battery compartment, while Paris did his best to look useful while doing nothing. Having been given no “orders”, Riddick leaned against the side of the wreck watching them.

“Don’t bother with that,” Draconis said suddenly, landing in front of Shazza where she was just about to tie down the only usable box of dried rations they could find in cargo; she jumped at his unexpected appearance, eyeing him in unease and a fair amount of dislike. He folded his wings behind him, ignoring – or uncaring – of the tension his presence caused. “There’s plenty of food back at the village. That will only be an extra burden.” She stared at him for a moment before nodding and carrying the box back to cargo.

“Your brother said he’d “cook something up” for us when we got there,” Johns said, dropping the power cell onto the sled and securing it with a mix of rope and chain. “Does he know how many of us there are?” His doubtful tone belied the thoughts running through his mind.

“Of course.” Draco looked at him, eyeing him for a moment. “My _kal’is_ knows things you wouldn’t believe in your wildest fantasies. Things you couldn’t imagine in your darkest nightmares. He knows more about this dead world and the monsters beneath its surface than you will ever want to know in your lifetime. And he says to hurry the fuck up ‘cause you’re burning daylight.” He smirked. “Only not in those exact words, perhaps.” Johns gave him a dark look and bit back the harsh words he clearly wanted to say.

“How can we burn daylight?” asked Jack, looking at him skeptically from where ‘he’ sat next to the sled, sipping from his O2 canister. “There are _three suns_. There’s always daylight.” Draco was silent as he stared at the girl dressed as a boy curiously. Then he turned away and spread his wings.

“Not for long, kid.” He took off into the air. Jack stared after him.

“Strangest guy _ever_ ,” she muttered sullenly, standing up and rejoining the Christlams.

-

With the sled loaded, they made their way towards the camp. Draconis led the way from the air, Riddick following from behind pulling the heavy sled along in a makeshift harness rigged up by Johns. Riddick scowled as he remembered the smirk on the Merc’s face as he tied Riddick into it.

The fiercest killer in the ‘Verse demoted to a pack horse. That’s what he called ironic. Or just shit-bad luck.

Gave him time to think about things, however. He pondered the possibility of lightening the load. For a two-seater skiff, the most you could cram in there during an emergency is six, maybe seven people without any extra cargo, including the two actual seats. Now with their new _friend_ and his brother, that almost doubled the amount of people that could fit. No way in hell would twelve people, even with four of them being gangly little brats barely into their teenage years, fit into a flyer that size.

Which brought him to their tour guide. He’d never seen a creature like that and he’d seen some pretty weird shit. There was something about him… something Riddick couldn’t put his finger on. Something in the man’s aura that screamed ‘Danger!’ even to his animal side. He was definitely someone to watch. Not to mention he had a brother, and that meant there were two of them, two creatures who rubbed his beast the wrong way. Two less people to fit in the skiff if something went wrong. Riddick shifted his grip on the sled and returned his focus to their path.

This time, as they passed the pillars, they could hear the clicks of the monsters underneath, echoing outwards from the hollow cavities. Fear and a need to get away from the sounds spurred them to move faster and soon they were crossing the bone graveyard. Shazza, Jack, and Paris, who had stayed behind on the first trip out, looked around them with awe (and a bit of nervousness) at the sheer size of the skeletons. Now that they knew what had killed them, a sense of dread settled deep in the chests of the travelers.

Draconis landed at the entrance to the canyon and his wings seemed to melt away, disappearing as though they had never been. He ignored the incredulous stares as they caught up to him.

“The canyon is too narrow to fly through,” he said in explanation to the unasked question – if not the one they would have voiced first. “I’d rather not attempt it and crash into a wall.” They exchanged looks with each other in silence and followed him through.

As they exited the other end they could see smoke rising from above the first building, and as they rounded it they saw the fire and food set off to the side – but no Harris. They approached the fire and found twelve plates sitting atop old-fashioned metal trays; ten for the remaining crash survivors, two for the brothers.

So he _had_ known. But how had he known there would be ten of them, when there used to be eleven? Unless his brother had somehow told him while spying on them (and there was no doubt in Johns mind that he had been), he’d have to be a damned fast flier to go back and forth to tell his brother what was going on. It took over an hour to reach the camp on foot from the crash site, and there had been maybe twenty to thirty minutes between Zeke’s death and Fry’s rescue… and the ex-winged man had kept mostly nearby since then.

Johns eyed the food and Draconis with equal measures of distrust, hand itching for his pistol.

“ _Oridu_!” Draconis called into the emptiness of the camp, frowning. “ _Es tiru om’eht_! Harris?” Where was he? He cast out his Empathy but couldn’t feel him. Worry ate at his gut. Harris would have known their time of arrival to nearly the second – the meals alone proved that – so why wasn’t he here to greet them? And why was he blocking himself from Draco when he’d never done so before?

“Where is he?” Johns asked, nearly echoing his own thoughts, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know,” Draconis muttered. “It doesn’t make sense for him not to be here.”

Without notice, Riddick slipped out of the sled harness and slunk away to do a bit of… exploring.

-

It was almost too easy to slip away from the fools, even when standing right behind them, Riddick thought as he slipped behind the buildings of the camp. He explored the parts the first group had ignored, behind the shelters where dozens of miniature gardens flourished and clung stubbornly to life. In most of the gardens were flowers, their cloying scent permeating the air. It was the largest garden that was most interesting.

These were plants he had never seen before, not even on the weirdest of planets. And when there were planets that housed frogs the size of cats with six eyes and flowers larger than houses that grew from blue grass, that was saying something. Some were changing colours, others seemed to be moving with a mind of their own. There were several displaying their deadly intent proudly and colourfully. Some just looked plain weird.

In the midst of them all, with his back to him, was a man. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the garden, where there was a clear space, most likely for him to do just that. His hands were planted firmly in the dark soil, surrounded by a faint glow to Riddick’s changed eyes that was made easier to see in his shirtless state.

This man was no stranger to battle, Riddick surmised. Scars littered his back; several of them looked rather nasty in comparison to the smaller ones surrounding them, some in strange starburst patterns. They seemed to enhance the subtle outline of muscles displayed on his back and down his arms. Those muscles wouldn’t give him much body strength, but at his size they would give him plenty of speed; something that could be just as much, if not more, dangerous in a fight.

As he watched, the plant-life in the largest garden seemed to tremble. His glow spread across the small garden to cover the whole plot and one by one the strange plants began to lift up from the soil. Small glass specimen jars set off to the side of the man began to lift into the air to float around his head. The plants deposited themselves one by one into each jar as plant and bottle met in midair, some of them shrinking in size in order to fit. Within minutes he seemed to be finished and the glow faded, seemingly to settle like static beneath his skin.

Moments later, the man moved. He lifted his hands from the dirt and stood slowly, absently brushing it away. He turned and walked right past Riddick without even looking at him, as though he had known he’d been there all along and lifted his discarded shirt from a chair placed against the nearest building. After donning it, he retrieved his specimen jars and placed them carefully in a small canvas bag, wrapping each of them in a small piece of square cloth.

Only then did he look up at Riddick.

The two eyed each other in silence, each carefully cataloging the other’s features and stance. This stranger was obviously not threatened by Riddick, if the way he had completely disregarded him until his task was completed was any indication. And Riddick was in no way concerned about what he had just witnessed; he’d figure it out later, and he’d met a few Elementals before – strange riddle-loving bastards that they were.

The man was, above all things, gorgeous. For the first time in years, a dark lust coiled within Riddick’s belly as he drank in the golden skin and inhumanly bright emerald green eyes – eyes he shouldn’t be able to see with such clarity. The man’s tail and ears only served to make him look innocently dangerous, and that much more alluring.

Then the man smiled softly and his beauty was enhanced tenfold.

“It seems they’ve noticed you’re missing,” the man murmured in a deep, velvet purr that stroked the lust into a flaming inferno. He walked slowly towards Riddick and then past him, shoulders temptingly brushing as lightly as air, back towards the main camp. “We better head back before my brother tears the place apart looking for us, no?”

Silver eyes darkened behind his goggles at the tempting feline sway in the man’s walk and he followed.

Definitely one to watch – and he’ll be doing plenty of watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Oridu: Friend  
> Es tiru om'eht: I have returned.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.... I forgot?
> 
> My bads. ::hides::
> 
> (Revision: 1,057 words added.)

_The hardest part to deal with, he’d always thought, was the disappointment. After every betrayal, it never failed to strike at him harshly, tearing at his soul until it was in tatters. He’d always mended it, but each time it got harder and harder._

_He’d long given up the hope of ever receiving any type of love or acceptance from his family. To them, he was an unwanted burden that should have died with his parents. An abomination to the human race._

_He was almost glad they had never known he wasn’t completely human. They'd died before he had learned of his true heritage, not that he would have ever told them if he had known before then._

_It was the betrayal of those he had trusted that had hurt the worst. He had never trusted his blood relatives save for in the young, impressionable years – a phase every child goes through, though his had not lasted for very long. He had learned very early that no one would take care of him, see to his needs and comfort, and so he had learned to adapt._

_His friends however, had been with him through all hurdles. They had stood by his side through every public downfall, through the ups and downs of the newspaper articles and fickle public minds. Yes, there were times when the strength of their friendship had faltered, but it had always returned to how it had been before – strained, but still strong. That was why he had not hesitated, despite his brother’s warnings, to tell them of his new powers._

_He could never forget their looks of horror as they flinched away from him, the slurs they threw at him in the halls, the interviews they'd given to the papers proclaiming him to be a monster, evil, no better than the man he was destined to kill. It had tattered his soul so completely it was only through Draco’s guidance it had mended at all, and it had taken a long time to do so. It was a lesson well learned, and a mistake he was not likely to repeat._

_He found comfort with his plants, with the affinity his gift of nature ensured him. Nature would never reject him, would never turn him away. It would not hesitate to rise and protect him should ever the need come to pass. His sight may be the more useful of his gifts, but the earth would forever be his greatest solace and one of his mightiest protectors._

_In many ways, he thought, the earth reminded him of Draco._

-

  
All the Stars in a Pitch Black Sky  
Chapter Six  


-

It was after they had settled around the rather bizarre fire that didn’t seem to emit heat, and collected the food laid out so invitingly their stomachs rumbled with the temptation, that they noticed the disappearance of their resident convict. Johns immediately reached for his gun and glanced around with narrowed eyes. Shazza adopted a dark look of hatred and clutched her war pick with a tight grip while Fry and Paris looked around them nervously. Only the Imam and the children seemed immune to the sudden tension, happily digging into their meals with fervor.

Draco was going frantic, though his outward appearance showed nothing but calm. His brother was nowhere to be found – or felt – and then that… _criminal_ disappeared. He just knew something was going on, something important, and it irked him that he had no idea what it was. If it involved his brother, he had damned well had a decent explanation when he returned.

“Shoulda figured that bastard would slip off first chance he got,” Johns growled. “Should’ve kept a closer eye on him.”

“If you knew he’d do this, why the hell did you even let him free?” Shazza demanded accusingly. Johns glared at her, annoyed with the fact that Fry seemed to agree if the conflicted look on her face meant anything.

“And where the hell is he gonna go? Not enough power in the skiff and there’s no way he can double back for more cells and get it up and running ‘fore we catch him.” His confident stance and words were belied by the white-knuckled grip he held on his rifle, giving away that he wasn't as self-assured as he tried to portray. Shazza sent him a dirty look, looking as though she had plenty to say but would rather keep the fragile peace; despite this, her gimlet stare said plenty, and Johns did not appreciate the look at all.

_He_ was the leader here, damnit, or at least he needed it to look that way. Riddick slipping his chains, while not unexpected, did not look well upon John's reputation. He ground his teeth in frustration.

“If he’s not a threat right now, why are you wielding your gun?” Draconis said haughtily, sneering at the posturing man. Johns eyed him with disdain, wishing he could just shoot the bastard and be done with it. He didn't need some freaky humanoid cat with _wings_ making him look even worse.

“Riddick’s more of a threat when he thinks he’s outmaneuvered and without a weapon." Johns reassumed his air of superiority and leadership, not realizing that those who cared for such things didn’t' notice, and those who noticed didn't care. "Like a cornered animal, outmuscled and stuck.” The two eyed each other with mutual distaste.

Soft, deliberate footfalls from behind them stopped the argument from continuing any further.

“Squabbling like children isn’t going to help you any.” Draco whirled around as soon as his brother emerged from behind the nearest building, giving the tall figure that followed behind Harris a dark look. Harry looked at the startled humans, once again disregarding the gun Johns pointed at his torso. He smiled in mirth. “No matter how amusing it is.”

“ _Where have you been_?” Draco hissed in the language of their people, tail undulating wildly behind him the only other sign of his aggravation. He continued his short diatribe in Standard, “Why couldn’t I sense you?” Harry patted his shoulder as he passed by, as one would pat a child on the head in indulgence, and went to join the others fireside.

“I was Focused, brother-mine,” he replied airily, taking one of the remaining plates. Draco growled softly and stood behind him, changing his focus to the convict, who stood off to the side from the rest of them.

“And what were _you_ doing?” he said, his voice somewhat sullen. Riddick shrugged a shoulder disinterestedly.

“Walking.” Draconis bared his teeth and scoffed, sending his brother a piercing look that went ignored.

“Don’t go wandering too far.” Johns narrowed his eyes at the convict, moving the hand that held his gun meaningfully. “Just remember this is a trial basis.”

Riddick gave him a sardonic twist of his lips and a mock solute, his entire posture screaming, _'Bring it, bitch. I'm a badder motherfucker than you'll ever be – and we both know it.'_ His, “Yes sir… _boss_ ,” couldn't have been more sarcastic if he'd tried.

Riddick and Draco locked eyes, each unwilling to look away. Draco’s look carried a warning, telling him to keep away from his brother. Riddick’s carried a challenge that said, ‘Just _try_ and stop me’.

Still sitting camp side, currently discussing agriculture with the Imam and his oldest disciple Suleiman (including pauses for translation), Harry looked over his shoulder at them and smiled.

Unseen, white mist twirled eerily within his verdant, knowing eyes.

-

“So how many do we need?” Fry jumped, startled, and turned sharply to glare balefully at Johns for startling her like that. Killer convict or no, this world gave her the willies – especially knowing now of the hungry, deadly creatures that lived beneath their feet. She turned back around as he joined her and was content to ignore him while she finished the system check on the ragged skiff.

“According to this,” she said, staring at the screen of the very outdated onboard computer, “the skiff has a ninety-gig draw. The other ship takes twenty-gig cells, so five total. We need four more to launch.” Johns eyed her silently, watching her as she went back and forth across the skiff’s consul, flicking switches here and pressing buttons there. After quite a few minutes passing by with no other sound, she finally sighed heavily and turned to look at him in annoyance. “ _What_ , Johns? I'm a little busy, so just what exactly is so important right now that you gotta interrupt me?”

“Nuthin’.” Johns looked incredibly smug to have unnerved her so. “Just wonderin’ what you thought of them aliens.” She frowned softly, staring at a consul in thought.

“They’re strange, that’s for certain. I’ve never heard of anything like them. If it weren’t for those wings, clear as day, I don’t think I’d ever believe they could exist. Hell,” she said with a bitter laugh, “I’m still not too sure that I’m not sleeping and this whole planet, and the crash, isn’t part of some fucked-up nightmare.” She ended the last with a utter, punching a few more buttons with perhaps more force than they required.

“Better to believe you’re awake, Carolyn, than to think that this is a dream. I’d rather have the pilot alert and ready to jet than with her throat slit.” She sent him a dark glare, apprehension making her spine stiffen.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Suspicion lay just behind her words as she eyed him. Was he threatening her? This was a small ship after all, nothing more than an antiquated life raft really. They'd be lucky to fit everyone onboard and still take off with all that weight. As a cop, Johns would know how to pilot – he'd be trained for it – and he _was_ the only one who knew the truth of what she'd tried to do. Could he be planning to off her somehow in revenge for trying to take his life (amongst others) and play hero to the rest of them? She may not weight much, but fifty-five kilos was fifty-five kilos less for the skiff to carry.

She shook her head a bit, wiping sweat from her forehead (leaving an oily smudge behind). No, she shouldn't think that way. She couldn't _afford_ to think that way. Paranoia in a desperate situation only made everything so much worse.

Johns looked furtively behind him out through the open door into the desert, eyes scanning the camp not far from the landing pad, before stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Just how do you think Riddick escaped?” Fry looked startled, her eyes wide and earlier thoughts wiped cleanly from her mind.

“I just assumed….” She said, faltering. What _had_ she assumed? Not much, really. She didn't want to think about it.

“Well whatever it was, you’re wrong,” he said briskly, cutting her off. “Somehow, no one but he knows how, he slipped his chains, slipped his cell, and followed a Trader to the docking bay. Once he was alone, Riddick slit his throat and took off with his ship.” Or at least, that was the story if anyone asked. Whether or not it was the truth he didn't know – and he didn't care. Riddick was just a payday, after all.

“He can _pilot_?!” Fry squeaked, her face pale and eyes panicked. Just great; that was three pilots now… and they only needed one. Johns nodded grimly, a strange light in his eyes.

“Taught himself, supposedly. And he's damn good at it.”

“So what’s going to stop him from just killing us all and taking off with the skiff?” she asked breathlessly, scenario after grisly scenario flashing across her mind. Johns crooked his head in gesture to follow him and walked down the ramp. Fry scrambled to get up and go after him for a moment. Johns didn’t go too far, however, stopping only a few feet shy of the skiff doors, looking furtively towards the camp.

“Besides the fact that there ain’t no way in hell Riddick can slip off and be back luggin’ four thirty kilo power cells, load 'em, and be able to take off without anyone noticing what he's up to, I can think of one or two reasons why he might stick close by – and how we can use it to our advantage.” Fry followed his line of sight and stared at the peculiar scene.

Not more than forty feet away was Riddick, standing extremely close to their mysterious dark-haired host, his goggled eyes never leaving the other.

-

Draco watched with growing irritation as the muscled convict stuck to his brother’s side like some sort of murderous adhesive. He scowled as his brother sensed his irritation and only smiled at him in amusement, and the scowl deepened as the convict ignored him all together.

He didn’t like this Riddick character, and he especially didn’t like the way his brother allowed the man to follow him around like a loyal puppy - with fangs. He had always known his brother was easily amused by the antics of others, but he was not going to allow someone that dangerous to stay near to his brother, no matter how much Riddick seemed to amuse the younger man.

If he was honest with himself, he would admit he was jealous of the attention Harry gave the goggled convict, but that would be admitting a fault. Although he was no longer the Malfoy Heir, the mannerisms and Malfoy pride drilled into him since birth would not allow for such faults… or at the very least, admitting to such. _‘Malfoys do not get jealous,’_ his father had told him at a very young age. _‘They do not covet another’s possessions. They take them, by force if necessary.’_ However, another Malfoy Lesson stopped him from simply tearing the two apart and keeping them that way: _‘Malfoys do not beg attention onto themselves; they demand it.’_ And were he to admit anything else to himself, it would be that tearing Riddick limb from limb for getting so near his brother would be nothing short of childish. However tempting such a thought was.

Draco wasn’t a fool. He could see, clear as day, that there was more than fascination going on between the two. The tension that lay between them was thick and palpable. It made his empathy go haywire and Draconis had to force that ability behind mental lock and key for the first time in years.

Riddick was attracted to his brother – very attracted. And Harris was just as interested in return.

Draco didn’t like that one bit.

He frowned suddenly, his brows knitted in concern as Harry’s face suddenly went slack, his pupils and the green of his eyes bleeding away to leave only white behind. That could only mean one thing, and he had a feeling this time it meant nothing good.

-

Harris was amused, though he rarely wasn't. The tensions in the air did nothing but excite him, from the darkness and grief swirling around the dark-haired woman fiddling with a bulky wheeled machine, to the suspicions and secretiveness surrounding the two supposed 'leaders' on the far edge of the camp and the blissful naivety of the children playing around the buildings. Even his brother's clear aggravation was amusing, though when was it ever not?

Not to mention tall dark and sexy as sin who never seemed to stray farther than a few feet from him. They would be glorious, he knew – soon, but not now. Not yet. His belly tightened in anticipation, but he suppressed his lustful urges. He almost couldn't wait.

A feeling niggled at the back of his mind, and he frowned, turning his senses inwards to concentrate. His gift, so powerful and often overwhelming exploded behind his mind's eye and for a moment the outside world ceased to exist.

Something was wrong.

Harry felt it deeply as his chest constricted and a jumbled array of images passed through his mind. He could see a child and a building with doors chained from the inside and blood. So, so much blood and fear and _death_. He could hear screaming and clicking and shrieking, see a large shaft leading deep underground echoing with the sounds. The vision was unusual, unlike most – rushed, as though it were to happen soon – happing _now_.

He knew that room, that building. It was the only structure in the settlement that he and his brother had not touched, that he had not dared go near for the fear of what was inside. Only death waited in that room, he remembered, and so they had left it alone lest they feel the wrath and hunger of the hatchling _Zhal’mekres_.

But he could not afford to deny the existence of the building any longer. Death loomed on a child, and _that_ he would _not_ allow.

His eyes cleared and he could see his brother looking at him in concern and the interesting dark one who's future was so deeply entwined with his own watching him with curiosity. Harry spoke only five words before he pivoted on his heel and took off.

“Child in the forbidden building.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Translations:
> 
> Kal'is - Brother  
> Zhal'mekres - Night Beasts  
> Kali’ridu - brother-friend  
> Oridu - Friend


End file.
